


Interlude

by LittleObsessions



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dominance, F/M, Holodeck, Id Fic, PWP, Romance, Smut, The Bridge - Freeform, novel compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleObsessions/pseuds/LittleObsessions
Summary: "He laughs, but he’s still uncertain, and braces against the railing and watches her closely. He seems sober, but the glaze in his eyes and the laugh on his mouth tells her he’s just inebriated enough to be willing to do all that he wants - and all that he doesn’t - tonight."Because what's better than gratuitous smut?





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiaCooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/gifts).



> Thank you to the imitable Mia Cooper for her beta services. She's a wonderful friend, and beta to boot. I am grateful for her continued support, and this is a smutty gift for her!

 

* * *

**_The Full Circle Fleet_ **

 

 

“Dinner?”

She grins, looking at the laid out table - candles, flowers, china she loves - and slides her jacket off.

“Any particular reason?”

“Does a man need a reason to look after the woman he loves?”

He comes and stands behind her, hands alighting on her shoulders and rubbing in firm circles. The tension, as if ordered, immediately flees.

“Absolutely not,” she sighs, lets her head fall back against his chest. “Under absolutely no circumstances should there ever be a reason for you to do this.”

He laughs gently in her ear, “Other than that you simply enjoy it?”

“Mmmm,” she turns in his arms, rests her cheek against his chest. “You’re good with your hands.”

He dips to kiss her jawline, “And my mouth –”

_“Admiral?”_

She rolls her eyes, then pulls back and slaps her commbadge.

“Decan?”

_“Starfleet are contacting you Admiral. I explained you had closed communications for the evening, and retired, but they insisted...”_

She tips her chin into her chest, takes a deep breath and straightens up.

“I’ll take it in Captain Chakotay’s Ready Room,” she looks at him as she answers, and he nods his approval and moves to pour himself a whiskey from the decanter.

 _“Thank you Admiral,”_ Decan answers, and cuts out the communication.

“Go,” he says gently, setting his tumbler down and holding her jacket out. “Dinner will wait.”

“I don’t think dinner is where this was going,” she laughs, letting him slide her jacket on and then adjusting the collar and straightening it up.

“Me neither,” he murmurs in her ear. “But we can explore that when you come back.”

She turns to him, raises up on her tiptoes and kisses the lingering taste of whiskey from his lips. Slow, languorous. A promise.

“Have one for me,” she motions to the glass.

“I will do,” he smiles.

 

She keeps on looking at the clock, but it doesn’t help the subspace conference move quicker. By the time Admiral Nechayev bids her farewell, it’s 1 am. And with the issues of unrest in the Alpha Quadrant consuming her thoughts, she makes her way back. She tries - and almost succeeds - at pushing it to the place in her mind that can wait until tomorrow. She has few nights free, and even fewer where they are together, and she values time, now, in a completely new way. And anyway, she can be of no immediate help to the Alpha Quadrant as a political crisis – however small, but infinitely irritating -  brews, so she swallows it until she has the power to wrap her head around it.

 

The table is still set, but the candles are worn to stubs and flickering against their own demise. There is soft jazz on in the back ground, and he’s sitting, feet propped up on the coffee table and a book by his side, her copy of _The Odyssey_ , discarded. He lifts his head when the door closes behind her.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry-” she begins.

He holds up a hand, “Don’t, I knew what I was signing up for.”

His words are measured, and it takes effort for him to shape his mouth around them. She squints through the dull light, and sees the empty whiskey bottle on the table. She smirks, and decides she’s going to have fun with her inebriated lover.

“You’re drunk!” She declares, tiredness abating, and slides her jacket off and leaves it on his floor.

“Hey, messy...”

He plants his feet on the deck and leans forward.

“You’re drunk,” she repeats, bending at the waist to examine his face. His eyes are shining, and he’s on the good side of tipsy. She places her hands on either side of his head on the couch, and leans into his whiskey breath.

“Definitely drunk.”

“I took your edict seriously,” he smirks. “I had all your whiskeys too.”

“You are good at following my commands,” she pivots on her heels to examine the contents of the bottle. There’s a tiny puddle of single malt at the bottom of the bottle that had been half full when she left.

His groan makes her pause in her investigation.

“Don’t do that,” he says and she turns her head to look over her shoulder.

“Do what?”

She is genuinely nonplussed.

“Bend like that,” he grabs her by the waist, taking her by surprise, and hauls her into his lap.

She laughs - giggles is perhaps more accurate - and leans back on his chest.

“You used to do that all the time,” he grumbles, whiskey breath tracing across her cheek, as he pulls aside the neck of her undershirt and plants a tingling kiss on her skin.

“Oh?”

“Mmmm, bending over the conn on the bridge. And that ass would be up in the air and I’d be pretending to listen to every word you said and in reality...”

She laughs heartily, and tries to turn to face him but he holds her upper arms in place, and tightens his legs so she is perched on the small bit of couch between his own and incapable of escape.

Not that she wants to.

“And in reality?”

The sudden shift in tone has heightened her senses, and his strong hands and quiet urgency make her spine tingle.

“In reality I would be thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you.”

“Wholesome, were they?”

He grinds against her, and the breath she’s been holding hitches out of her throat.

“You tell me.”

“From the feel of that, I’d say not wholesome.”

“You’d be hanging over Tom, all business, and I’d be thinking about striding up behind you, stripping those Starfleet issue pants off and taking you right there: fucking my prim captain on her bridge.”

The tingling anticipation gathering in her belly roars to life at his words, and the promise of it immediately translates into an idea. She doesn’t consider consultation necessary; it will be deserted at this time of the morning, and her privacy override will protect them.

“Computer, initiate site to site transport. Authority: Janeway alpha one six.”

She grips onto his wrists, feels the tug and pull of transport, as they rematerialise in the blinding white of the holodeck. Being an Admiral does have its perks.

“Kathryn-”

The cocky man who had previously been grinding against her steps back unevenly. Her move has taken him by surprise.

“Computer, initiate Janeway programme three seven one. Lock holodeck to all but me and Captain Chakotay.”

The bridge materialises around them, but it isn’t the bridge of the present: Tuvok is at the security station, the entire bridge crew, with the exception of their captain are present, bedecked in the older uniforms, and the conn hasn’t been retrofitted with the controls for slipstream.

And Harry is still an ensign.

He smiles but shakes his head.

“Nostalgic?” she asks, leaning against the railing behind the chairs and turning to him.

“Why do you have this?”

“I used to use it to run scenarios, completely on my own. See how we would fare against decisions I was considering.”

He nods, then motions to the holographic version of himself.

“Bend over the conn and see what he does,” he suggests, flicking his hands towards her.

The holographic Chakotay frowns and is about to protest, but he’s blushing. Kathryn laughs and motions to the hologram to be quiet.

“I’d rather see what you would do,” she murmurs to the real one, making her way down the steps.

“We can’t Kathryn.”

It’s a feeble attempt at propriety.

She stops on the bottom step and pivots, hands on hips.

“Can’t we, Commander?” she asks, voice dripping with the challenge.

She hopes he will, because she is more than willing, and the little scenario he painted is already making her blood sing. She’s not a vanilla kind of woman - and though they’ve never discussed it in blunt terms - she enjoys the shock, and arousal, it creates in him. He can feign - maybe even mean - peace and spirituality and calmness all he wants, but somewhere in his bones is a man who chose defection, danger, darkness over all the things they both purport to be.

She thinks, after everything is stripped away, that is why they really work, why they can truly love each other without judgement.

 Why they can still love each other after everything they have done.

“Not on the holodeck.”

“You’re forgetting you fuck an Admiral, Chakotay,” she purrs, leaning against the conn. “Computer, operate discretion mode - authority Admiral Janeway Pi three seven one. Parameter: three hours from transport.”

_“Discretion mode in operation, all logs will be deleted pertaining to Admiral Janeway’s movements.”_

“And Captain Chakotay’s,” she adds.

_“Captain Chakotay: confirmed.”_

He laughs, but he’s still uncertain, and braces against the railing and watches her closely. He seems sober, but the glaze in his eyes and the laugh on his mouth tells her he’s just inebriated enough to be willing to do all that he wants - and all that he doesn’t - tonight.

He looks at his holographic copy, who’s watching them with a mix of horror and amusement and complete confusion.

“Computer, delete Chakotay.”

His doppelgänger, though with fewer grey hairs, vanishes instantly at his words.

“Shame, I was thinking two of you would be even more fun.”

“Next time.”

He’s not joking. She shivers.

“What about Tom?” she asks, and watches him as he descends the stairs and sits in what used to be her chair, and is now his own.

At his name, holographic Tom looks up, all boyish adoration, and she pats the blond’s shoulder, and it occurs to her how like his father he is.

“He’s always had a thing for you,” Chakotay says seriously.

She grins, “So have all the Paris men.”

“I’d rather he didn’t watch this, frankly, even if he’s just a hologram.”

It’s masquerading as a joke, but Chakotay is a private man, and a possessive one too, it seems.

“Spoil sport,” she teases. “I don’t fancy Tuvok having his illusions shattered either. Computer, delete all characters.”

They are suddenly, deftly, alone.

“Can you rise to the challenge?”

She doesn’t even need to goad him anymore; in an instant he flies from his seat and there is no space between them. He grips her wrists, pressing her rear into the console with his own pelvis. His face a breath away from her own. His fingers bite into the flesh of her wrists and the sensation of pain immediately sends sparks into her belly, tightens her nipples.

“You know how to wind me up Kathryn,” he moves against her for emphasis. Hard, painfully so, and ready.

She swallows a gasp - despite their familiarity, there’s no contempt bred here - and smirks.

“So I do,” she leans in. “Show me what you would have done.”

He snaps his hands to her hips and twists her round, where one hand comes up to her neck, undoes the knot of hair at the nape so it tumbles down, and the other pushes on the small of her back. Gracelessly, but what he wants, she sprawls out on the console at the pressure. It pushes her rear up and against his straining cock and he groans, and caresses her ass.

The ache in her hips, stomach, thighs, is urgent and demanding and she wants to feel him instantly.

“You were so hot, you are so hot.”

Every fibre of her would ordinarily dispute that, but he’s very genuine in his compliment.

“But you were so unattainable to me. So aloof. Protocol? Fuck protocol.”

The hand that was previously on her back slides to the side and over her ribs to grasp a breast, and she moans into the touch as he begins kneading the flesh.

“Mmm, that’s not the only thing you should fuck here...”

“You’re filthy, you know that? I always hoped you would be, but I didn’t expect it. That mouth. So eloquent and commanding, until you’re in the bedroom.”

She turns her face to him, and he leans over and their mouths clash awkwardly, but he yanks at her hair and it raises her head and she is at a better angle to kiss him. There is no preamble; jarring tongues, teeth, violent kisses which lie dormant, on the whole, but emerge occasionally to tell of a past where anger and frustration played a vital role.

She gasps for air and for mercy as the hand that had been on her back slides between her legs from behind and cups her fully, and aggressively.  He does it with the confidence and possession only a man who is her equal would feel capable of executing. And the fact she lets him do it is testament to the trust she places entirely in his hands. She moans, tries to create more friction by pushing herself into his fingers.

“So prim,” he growls, squeezing and drawing a moan. “Until you strip her off.”

She hisses as he closes his hand and grinds his fingers against her clit.  Despite the layers she feels it acutely - every nerve exposed.

“I can smell how wet you are.”

“Would you have said that to me, Commander? Because heaven knows there were times you made me wet with a look.”

“It’s Captain,” he corrects as his fingers slide the seal at her hip open.

“Never to me,” she whispers. “You’ll always be Commander. Subordinate.”

“Ha!”

He forces the pants down to her ankles and then his strong hands curl into the back of her panties and he rips them away, the noise tearing indecently through her shallow, desperate breaths.

“I’ll keep these,” he stuffs them in his own pocket as she twists her neck around.

“Consider them a gift,” she throws over her shoulder and he disappears from her view, but one hand remains pressed to her back so she is forced to remain prone on the console.

She feels his breath ghosting along the backs of her thighs and his hands in between them, pushing them firmly apart.

“You’re so wet, so eager,” he confirms, as if she needed it.

“Not so prim,” she retorts, sliding one hand from the console, and presses it into herself. He grips her wrist and pulls her hand away roughly.

“Taste your fingers,” he demands, pushing her hand upwards.

“Handing out orders,” she mutters, doing exactly as she is told.

He likes this, and she’s not entirely opposed to it either.

“Good?”

“You tell me,” she whimpers around her own fingers.

He presses his mouth to her, barely there at all, breath whispering against her throbbing, soaking flesh. She gasps as he licks more firmly, then pushes her legs further apart and pushes his tongue into her.

“Chakotay!”

“Yes Captain?”

“Don’t stop,” she reaches a hand behind her and pushes on his head.

With a laugh he obliges her, pulling her hips out and anchoring her there and stroking his tongue against her. She feels the surging wave of a climax beginning in her thighs and her stomach, flaming across her skin. There is no slow, indulgent build, instead she comes within a matter of seconds against his hot, pressing tongue. She curls onto her tiptoes and away from that mouth as a scream rips through her and her body convulses of its own accord as the pleasure-pain claims her, in bursts behind her eyelids. He holds her in place, does not withdraw from his assault as she braces her hands out against the console and moans in a delicious denouement. The relentlessness continues as he stands, and with not even a second to allow her to catch her breath, shoves his own pants and underwear to his ankles and slams into her, without so much as a warning or permission.

Not, she reminds herself as a keen wail tears from her own throat, that he needs it.

“Was that good?” he asks, fingers of the one hand coiling into her hair and tugging as the other begins another delicious assault on her clit. Circling. Rubbing. He knows her body so well.

She feels stretched beyond all reasonable expectations, and it takes her back to the first time she made love to him, and her lewd delight at the size of him and the unabashed pride on his face when she passed comment. She almost laughs, but it would sour the tone.

“Not -” she spits out between merciless thrusts, “bad.”

He chuckles darkly and sucks on the skin of her neck, and she can visualise the blossoming bruise appearing under his teeth. It will be exactly where her pips are.

How poetic.

“Come for me Kathryn,” he whispers against the sensitive - too sensitive - skin of her ear. “Give me what I want.”

She lets go, then, of the last fragments of control and gives in entirely to the sensation of him, his flesh pressing and withdrawing, his strong hands on her, the feel of him filling her completely. She knows he’s near too; she can feel it in the tension against her back, the way his fingers speed up between her legs (he’s nothing if not equitable). He growls with each thrust, and hardens even more inside her.

“Such a good fuck,” he grunts in her ear.

She’s so past the point of words that she can’t answer, just mewls her agreement, and focuses on the tightening of every sinew is her body as it sparks alight and every inch of her floods with pleasure.

“I’m coming,” she breathes, words meaningless and perfunctory as her body clenches him deeper, more, if that’s at all possible. Her skin and bones and blood blaze with unadulterated pleasure, the sensation claiming everything but her sense of him within her.

His only response is a cry as he comes too, and he clings on to her and pulls her so impossibly close as his strokes slow and lengthen, and eventually cease. They stand, pressed together, breathing harsh and then calming as the moments pass. She leans back against him, closes her eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to her temple.

“That’s what you were thinking, all that time?”

“Most of the time I was simply in awe of you. Someone so little, yet somehow invading every waking thought I had.”

“Imagine me thinking you were listening,” she drawls, half-joking.

“I was....most of the time.” he says softly, then turns her to face him.

Sweat is gathering on his brow, and the lazy smile of satisfaction that she so loves is beautiful on his face. He pulls her close to him, and she curls her arms around him and uses him to leverage herself onto the console to rest there, locking her legs around his thighs. He has other idea, it seems, and his hands grasp her buttocks and hoist her against him. Holding her, he turns them both from the console, kicking his pants off as he goes, and picks his way towards the commander’s chair, setting her on her feet in front of it and pulling her into his lap when he settles in it.

She rests her forehead against his, the urgency of desire having been replaced with satisfied exhaustion, and closes her eyes for a moment.

“That was good,” she mutters. “Excellent, actually.”

“Completely risky,” he amends, with a salacious grin.

“Well the Delta Quadrant _is_ mind-numbingly boring, one does need to alleviate that somewhat.”

He laughs and kisses her temple.

“I used to use this programme in the early days,” she volunteers. “I used to run scenarios, offer solutions and see how the crew would take it.”

“Did it help?”

She nods, “Helped me trust you all, I suppose. You weren’t the crew I set out with...but I’m glad I ended up with you, not to put too fine a point on it.”

He smiles that wonderful, open smile that makes her giddy.

“Good. We should keep it,” he squeezes her thighs.

“It’s redundant,” she laughs.

“I think we just found another use for it,” he murmurs, setting his head back with a yawn.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she taps his cheek. “Chakotay...”

“You’ve exhausted me woman,” he says quietly, opening one eye. “You and too much whiskey.”

“Don’t fall asleep, we have to go back.”

She prods his nose with her finger, and he smiles lazily. Sighing, she settles into him, legs slung over the arm of the commander’s chair.

“Computer, set alarm for an hour from now.”

“Alarm confirmed.”

They are silent for a moment, and then she thinks she’ll try again.

“You’re not the only one with a bridge fantasy.”

His eyes snap open, and he looks at her.

“No?”

“No. Let me show you...” she whispers, sinking to her knees.


End file.
